


Valhalla

by amariss



Category: Vinland Saga (Anime), Vinland Saga (Manga)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Childhood Friends, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Eventual Thornute, Friends to Lovers, Gen, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Thornute
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:53:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25704676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amariss/pseuds/amariss
Summary: Taciturn and prudentand in war daringshoulda king's children be;joyous and liberalevery one should beuntil the hour of his death-HavamalIt was said that only the deserving ones can enter the place called Valhalla. But was it a heavenly paradise? Or a place to return? For Thorfinn, none of this truly matters and for Canute, he is yet to find out.
Relationships: Canute/Thorfinn (Vinland Saga)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 40





	1. Sacrificial Lamb

* * *

** February 1013 **

* * *

Cautious. He’s always been cautious. His steps are guarded, careful not to spook the little white rabbit wandering alone in the field. Canute peeks behind a tree, his hair in a ponytail dangling on the side. Its soft furry tail wagging facing its back on him, oblivious of being watched.

_ “I got this, _ ” he is ready or so he thinks. Canute carefully pulls out a single arrow, draws the bow fully back, and pauses to aim at the body of the animal while closing his other eye. The prince holds his breath with a slight worry that he might mess this up. Panic surges and his heart pounds on his chest when the rabbit’s wide ears flick as though detecting the smallest movement he’s making. Canute’s arms are shaking, loosening his aim and in a heartbeat, he wonders;

_ “But what is this rabbit doing at a place like this?” _

He doesn't know why he feels a type of solidarity with the rabbit. A harmless being, alone in the wild, away from its nest. Perhaps it is wandering in the hopes of finding food to feed its family, perhaps it doesn’t feel safe at home and decided to find some other place to live or stay in, and perhaps it is lost. In one way or another, he knows that they share some similarities. Canute lowers the shaft as he listens to that still small voice within him.

But out of the corner of his eye, he sights a blade coming through the rabbit. Warm crimson liquid splatters on the ground tarnishing the green grass. Canute’s jaws left hanging in the air as he stands in pure shock. 

“Found ya,” 

Canute whips his hair with a darkening glare at the incoming figure. A dark horse trots and stops.

“Thorfinn!”

Thorfinn, the only son of the Jomsviking commander Thors and the future Jomsviking chieftain. They’ve known each other since the day they learned how to crawl and talk. Despite growing up together, they do not always agree on everything under the sun. Their personalities are like water and oil, like north and south, night and day. Being born from a family of warriors, Thorfinn is a young man of strength and talent while Canute, even though born from the family who rules the Vikings, is a tender-hearted prince. 

Thorfinn looks around blankly in the area, not minding how the prince is giving him an angry stare. “What are you doing here?” he asks simply. “Running away from hunting down a boar and going against a puny thing like that?” a wolfish grin comes across his face as he looks at the poor dead rabbit and that is enough for Canute.

“You killed it!” the prince yells in frustration.

“What?” the bodyguard is confused, faking to be offended. “Arentcha going to do the same just mere seconds ago?”

Canute’s eyes go round and his body goes stiff as if he is caught in a lie. “Y-you saw it?” he asks guiltily, almost a whisper.

“Yeah you dummy,” Thorfinn climbs down the horse and goes to pick up his blade. He struck the rabbit in its abdomen sending it quickly to its death. He takes the blade from it drawing thin lines of blood and Canute shuts his eyes, avoiding the sight of it.

“You hesitated,” Thorfinn says, pulling the rabbit’s big ears, blood continuously dripping and walks to the prince.

“What are you doing?!” Canute jolts backwards seeing the dead animal in front of him, his face is a combination of disgust and fear.

“Here, isn’t it your kill?” Thorfinn’s smug is present and Canute knows that he is taunting him to lie.

“It’s not,” the prince bows again in defeat. “If I said I killed it, I would be lying.” 

An exasperated sigh escapes from Thorfinn’s lips and turns to put it in the satchel on the horse’s back. Same old Canute wouldn’t lift a finger on a feeble creature. He can’t count on the times he scolds him for being too soft but that's just the way he is. 

“Thorfinn,” Canute calls. “How did you find me?” 

The shorter blond glances at him before speaking. “Saw your horse tied up there,” and points a finger to his right. “And I know where you would sneak.”

Canute smiles. Of course, Thorfinn always knows where to find him. 

The sound of a horn from afar disrupts their attention. Birds start appearing above creating the rustling of leaves from the tall trees. Both heads turn up and a faint wind whispers.

“Looks like the hunt is over.” the prince says.

Thorfinn clicks his tongue. Another boring day.

Half an hour later and they reunite with their party. The first prince of Denmark arranged a hunt for a couple of nobilities today and Canute isn’t the type who enjoys activities like this, so Thorfinn is aware beforehand that he would go astray. His sudden disappearance is not questioned by his brother at all, a thing Canute is thankful of.

The two of them watch while the men congratulate Prince Harald’s group, the group who successfully caught the boar. Alongside him is Wulf, his confidant and also a childhood friend of the royal family. Thorfinn considers him an acquaintance. The prince nods and gives humble thanks to the men around him. 

“If you didn’t look for me, you could’ve hunted down the boar,” Canute says, looking at his brother. Harald may be stronger and wiser than him but everyone knows that when it comes to speed, Thorfinn is undefeated. 

“I won against them the last time.” Thorfinn reminds him. It’s not that he desired to win this match today. To put it simply, he gave the win freely to these men, not that he cares. 

Canute looks at him puzzled. Recently, he notices how his friend is behaving strangely. It’s like the life of his eyes are slowly dulling. Unusual from the energetic boy, full of dreams that he grew up with.

Before he can say something, Thorfinn pulls him away, gesturing for them to leave. It is almost physically painful how the other nobilities ignore Canute’s presence as if he is not worthy of their time as if he is not second in line in the Danish throne. These fools didn’t even try to look for him when he’s gone. For all he knows, they would only care about him depending on their needs as if they want to gain favor with the King. Bunch of hypocrites. 

Canute is aware of this unworthy treatment and yet he won’t say a single thing about the matter. He who deadened his mind in the name of the royal family. Maybe most people are willing to kiss their ass literally but not Thorfinn, never him. Being the only son of a Jomsviking commander, Thorfinn saw how shady and undeserving of trust these people are. 

“Canute, Thorfinn,” calls Harald and the two pauses. “It was a good hunt.” he smiles.

Maybe the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree except in Harald's case. Thorfinn has nothing against Harald nor Canute’s sister. They treat him right unlike his own father.

“Forgive us, brother,” Canute responds. “But Thorfinn has to attend his Latin lesson later.” 

“Whaaat?” Thorfinn chirps immediately like he was struck by lightning but soon realizes the situation and straightens up his posture. “It was a pleasure, your highness,” 

The older prince nods with a smile and the two continue in a haste going back to their horses. 

On their way, Canute cries that he has to ask forgiveness to the Lord for lying to his older brother and Thorfinn laughs out loud, finding it both amusing and ridiculous how Canute is bothered by that. Seeing how he is sweaty over it will never not be funny.

“Stop laughing!” Canute scolds with a pout, eyebrows twitching in irritation. “I lied for you and you’re finding it funny?!”

Thorfinn holds his stomach trying to stop his laughter. “You look pathetic! Stop acting like it’s the end of the world.”

If not because they are riding a horse, Canute would have smacked him. For Thorfinn who is strictly pagan just like the rest of the Jomsvikings, lying is one of the last things he would care about unlike him who is a committed Christian. These differences put a strain on their friendship but somehow they still manage to be friends.

“You’re not entirely lying though,” a slip of tongue, something that he should’ve told himself quietly and Thorfinn quickly regrets the revelation. Canute is now staring at him, befuddled, squinting his oceanic eyes at him.

“You truly have Latin lesson?” the prince inquires in a hushed voice and his hunch is proven right when Thorfinn refuses to look back at him.

“Forget it, I’m not going to.”

Canute hums and shakes his head. “Mister Leif will surely school you if you skip your lesson again. I would go if I were you.” 

“Hah,” Thorfinn rolls his eyes. He is not up for another boring session to end the day. How he wishes he could go to war already and to prove his might especially to his father. He has to be eighteen years of age before he became a full pledged Jomsviking warrior. Thorfinn is turning seventeen this month, just one more year of waiting. 

“Your sire has big expectations for you,” the prince speaks but there is something deep inside him that aches as he says it. “Unlike me.” his head hangs low thinking he doesn’t have the same privilege from his father. Thorfinn is the favored grandson of the Jomsviking commander Sigvaldi and he has a lot to look forward to in his future. 

Thorfinn scowls looking at his friend and for a moment contemplates it. Canute has a point and he should not waste it. He wants to make his father and family proud of him. It is his dream ever since he was little yet he wonders why, why does it seem everything about it doesn’t feel fulfilling?

“Your highness! Young master!”

A familiar man waves joyfully from afar. Ragnar is holding a basket of cabbages in his other hand. The shines brightly at his cone shaped head looking pleased that the teens are safe after a tiring hunt.

“I see that the hunt has ended. How was it?” he smiles goodnaturedly at the teens.

“Yeah, prince Harald’s team won today,” Thorfinn says, dismounting from the horse. Two servants take their horses and bring it back to the stables. 

“But Thorfinn hunted down a rabbit, look!” the prince proudly showed his retainer the white rabbit from the satchel and opened it. The way he talks about it is kind of childish, something that makes Thorfinn smile. He always liked this side of Canute.

“Oh! What a fine-looking rabbit!” Ragnar takes the satchel and gestures at the cabbages. “I think we can make soup out of it and add these cabbages,” he suggests. It is a healthy looking rabbit and its meat will undoubtedly result in a flavorful soup.

“I want to help too!” Canute beams and looks at Thorfinn. “What do you think?”

Thorfinn nods, a soup isn’t half bad especially if it is to be made by Canute.

* * *

The man in the throne massages the rings around his fingers. His wrinkled face is darkened added by the current tension in the Danish court. In front of him are two of his most trusted warriors; Thors and Floki, both are commanders of the Jomsviking army. The warriors kneel with their heads down, waiting for the King to say something. 

The threat building up between the two factions is worsening and sooner or later, it will affect the ongoing invasion of England. As the King, he has the power to decide for the benefit of his country as much as his people. King Sweyn is many things but a man who is not afraid to sacrifice anyone for the crown. The faction has long decided to go for his sons, Prince Harald and Prince Canute. He deems that everyone who is against his rule will go for the second prince while the people who are loyal to him will support prince Harald, his favored son.

“Very well,” 

Like storm clouds amassing on the horizon, the King finalized his sacrifice. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always thought that if Thors never left the Jomsvikings, Thorfinn and Canute will grow up together and this AU is my take on it. Thorfinn grew up as nobility and became a close friend of Canute. Traditionally, membership in the Jomsvikings was restricted to men between 18 and 50 years of age.


	2. War Meeting

The rigidity in the air is apparent making it hard to breathe. It is a battle of courage and wisdom and neither one of them is willing to give up. Sweats trickle from their foreheads, anticipating the next move of their opponent. Teeth gritting, fists clenching, and eyes sharper than ever. 

“You’re going down,” threatens a headstrong brave young woman. She is in her late twenties with bright blond, curly locks of hair flowing past her waist. Ylva is the perfect definition of beauty, intelligence, and power. The eldest child of commander Thors and the only granddaughter of the Jomsvikings chieftain. With such a remarkable background, every man who desires her hand in marriage will undoubtedly face one hell of a test and even if the man is to gain her favor, he should pass in the three realms of death namely her grandfather, father, and brother.

No wonder why she remains single.

“Brother,” Ylva presses, a wicked smile on her face.

Thorfinn shoots her a look of not backing down, his eyes full of pride. One move, one wrong move and it will end in his downfall.

“Bring it on, sister,” he sneers, accepting the challenge. 

In synch, the siblings roar a battle cry that almost tears down the sturdy wooden walls that surround them. Thorfinn moves the tafl piece. Playing as the defender, he should defend his King piece.

Ylva’s eyes squint and let out another battle cry, a yelp of doom erupts from Thorfinn once he realizes his mistake.

“FUCK! NOOOO!”

“I WON! WOOOHOO!”

The passionate game of hnefatafl ends with Ylva’s victory. The older of the two dances in joy while the younger bends down defeated. Sighing, Thorfinn pulls out the bags of coins as payment from the loser, tossing on the table. 

  
His sister just arrived two days ago from Jomsborg. Thorfinn hates the idea of Ylva going to Jelling leaving their mother in their hometown but Ylva assures him by saying they have many servants to look after her. Still, it makes him wonder why in the blazing hell his sister would travel all the way to Denmark just to piss him off. She has no business in the country as far as he is concerned.

As today’s loser, Thorfinn is also tasked to clear the scattered tafl pieces and while doing so, he lets out a burp. Looks like he is still full from the rabbit soup he ate earlier with Canute and Ragnar.

“Eww, you’re such a barbarian pig,” Ylva hits him with a punch. Yes, a punch, not even a slap. How very unlady-like. 

“You’re turning seventeen so behave accordingly,” she adds.

Thorfinn is way too tempted to jest about her nonexisting love life despite her age but the last time he tried to, he received a colossal lump on the head and their cousin Baldr innocently asked if he tried to wrestle Ymir. To think that the boy would wonder if he fought Ymir says something about her sister.

“By the way, mother was asking if you want something for your birthday. She’ll send someone to deliver it to you.” Ylva plops down to count the bag of coins from her brother.

Thorfinn’s lips curl upward, what is he? Twelve? He used to get plenty of toys on his birthday when he is younger but a teen doesn’t need things like that anymore. He understands that his mother only wants to give him a present but sometimes he feels as if she still treats him like a child.

“Did you go here just to talk about that?” he asks.

“Huh?” Ylva’s eyebrows creases. “What am I, a messenger?” she puts back the coins in the small bag after counting all of it. Looks good. She can buy a fancy dress from it. “Let’s say I am here to look after you to make sure you act properly and not here to pull pranks on the second prince.” she accuses half jokingly.

“I am not pulling pranks on Canute.” Thorfinn retorts..

“You used to do it all the time when you were younger.” Ylva responds.

“We’re not children anymore,” he faces his sister. “And I am here to accompany our father.”

“Oh really,” Ylva says suspiciously. She is aware of the tight friendship between her brother and the second prince but at some point, she cannot fully grasp the reason why Thorfinn always wants to be in Jelling. Granted, their father and grandfather allow him to tag along on the Jomsvikings’ journey for Thorfinn to be familiarized in battles and travels, a thing he will deal with in the near future. But being his sister, Ylva knows that there is a deeper reason why Thorfinn ought to be in Jelling.

They are in the middle of a comfortable silence when the door flies open. The poor piece of wood almost burst into pieces at the way it was pushed. There is only one man in their lives who could make an entrance like this.

“THORFINN! MY FAVORITE NEPHEW!”

Thorkell the tall, their mother’s uncle, and their great uncle. His huge frame enters uninvitingly launching himself with open arms grasping Thorfinn’s body like a log.

“Uhg! Get away from me!” the boy squirms trying his best to free himself but to no avail. His father used to tell them stories that on the day he was born, it was like Thorkell gave birth to him because the man was more excited than Thors and Helga and even cried when he first saw the infant Thorfinn. He swears in Odin’s name that his uncle’s fondness will one day choke him to death - literally

“I forgot to tell you, uncle is also here. He joined me at the last minute.” Ylva says casually flipping her hair.

Thorfinn’s face is contorted, pushing himself away from Thorkell. Yeah, Ylva should have told him earlier about that.

“Uoooh! I missed you, my boy!” Thorkell booms, his voice can wake the entire graveyard. 

“Let...me...goo….uncle..” Thorfinn utters every word with effort. Thankfully, the giant man notices that the boy is turning blue from his bone crushing hug and decides to free him.

“Aside from I missed my nephew so much, I am here because King Sweyn requested my presence!” the man gushes. Everyone knows how much of a war-maniac Thorkell is and his excitement is all over his facade. 

Thorfinn and Ylva look at him deadpan. Well, this is a surprise. Although King Sweyn respects his strength, the King of Denmark is not a big fan of Thorkell’s lack of battle tactics. The beast is infamous for his head on attacks, not minding the loss from his part. This is why he is second only to Thors, the most renowned warrior of the Jomsvikings.

“It’s the time! Let’s go, children,” Thorkell grins, signaling them to follow him.

“Go where?” Thorfinn wonders, waiting for his sister to answer.

“To the war meeting! You two are invited, isn’t that a good thing?” the man’s grins widen, setting foot outside. 

“I am too?” the boy asks again. This is going to be his first war meeting with the high officials. Thorfinn’s face lights up now eyeing Thorkell expectantly. Ylva taps her brother’s back to follow their uncle with a proud smile on her face. The day her little brother is considered to be adult enough to be joining the war meeting has come.

“Of course,” their uncle winks, feeling the same excitement with the boy. “Let’s go, your father is waiting.”

Alas, a much bigger excuse for him to skip his Latin class. 

There are around twelve people in the war room examining where the Danish troops are currently located on the map of England. The map is spread over a long table and on top of it are the pieces representing each troop. Among the people invited in the meeting are him, his sister, his uncle, his father, Asgeir, who happens to be Thorkell’s right-hand man and commander Floki also with his right-hand man. The other six people are Danish nobilities and army officials. 

Commander Floki has always been a mysterious man to Thorfinn. Even though he appears to be a loving grandfather to their younger cousin Baldr, there is something about the man that he doesn't vibe with. Floki imitates a close book, unwilling to be read, refuses to be understood just like his stupid Latin books. 

Thors and Floki mostly lead the meeting. Thorfinn delightfully watches his father speak to the men hoping to learn more elaborate strategies from this convocation. It appears that the King appeals for an attack by the end of summer this year and will personally lead the campaign. The men’s eyes shine, now that is something to look forward to. 

“Hmm,” Ylva hums from his side putting a finger over her chin. “Is it just me or this kind of move could mean other things?” she whispers.

“Other things?” Thorfinn whispers back, careful not to disrupt the meeting. “Like what?”

“I don’t know,” Ylva replies in a low voice. “The king joining the campaign? Isn’t his health not in good shape for an old man to travel?” 

Thorfinn gazes at his sister then at the men before them. “Probably he wants to prove to those English scoundrels that he can still rule them despite his health.”

Their conversation is cut upon hearing a man from across the table coughs. They both don’t know whether the man is telling them to shut up or his saliva genuinely got stuck in his throat.   
“The plan is to capture England within the year or earlier next year,” Thors declares, all eyes on him. “His Majesty also orders four additional brigades from the Jomsvikings and in addition to this are all the fine warriors from different clans all over the country.” he continues. 

After that, Floki proceeds to discuss the strategies. Thorfinn cannot remember the last time he paid this much attention to the commander. 

The meeting ends after two hours and although satisfied in everything he learned and heard today, Thorfinn discovers that war meetings are draining both mentally and physically. He catches his father and uncle still talking inside and Thorfinn hesitates to leave for a second to listen.

“Thorfinn,” Ylva calls and approaches to pull him outside. “Come on, father still has a lot to work with the other commanders.”

Thorfinn is dragged outside. Ylva is rattling about what she raised earlier when she notices that the boy’s mind is in a daze, not paying attention to her, and soon stops talking. 

“Fine, I'm going to Estrid,” says Ylva. “You can go to Canute or whatever.” she taps the side pocket of her blue dress where she hid the bag of coins she won from him. Thorfinn can bet she is going to tag the princess along with her shopping. Princess Estrid is a good friend of his sister. 

“Speaking of,” Ylva looks above her shoulder before leaving. “I saw Canute yesterday, he’s been prettier than ever huh.” and smirks.

Thorfinn is left dumbfounded, wondering what’s that supposed to mean. 


	3. Vow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made up everything and I have no idea how Vikings celebrate birthdays or if they ever did lol. Ringerike pattern sample: https://i.pinimg.com/originals/d0/ab/ee/d0abee4a6f8d94dbce0f6d2a00e5596c.png

  
  


Thorfinn rarely sports luxurious clothes but there is nothing he can do when Ylva hands him the vibrant blue overtunic made from linen, a much more expensive material than wool, adorned by an elaborate ringerike pattern on the sides. She brags that it is one of the latest fashion trends in Denmark. Thorfinn shrugs, not that it matters.

“Hurry up, the visitors are waiting for you!” Ylva pulls out his brother behind the thick curtain that serves as walls in the hall. His sister says something about not ruining his hairstyle that she spent an hour on working for. Thorfinn’s hair is usually unkempt and wild, mirroring his character and all.

“Happy Birthday young master Thorfinn!” 

The visitors, which are mostly Jomsvikings from his father’s brigades, greet in unison, lifting their drinks, still in their uniform. They are systematically seated in several long tables in the wide hall, celebrating his birthday merrily as it has always been yearly.

“Thank you, everyone.” Thorfinn says coolly and a female servant gives him a drink. Together with the men, he lifts his drink as though officially opening the night for celebration.

The siblings go to the top table where their friends and special guests are chattering. Canute sits beside Wulf while beside him is the first prince. Princess Estrid sits alone on the other side of the table waiting for Ylva and Thorfinn to join her.

“Hey there birthday boy,” Estrid pipes, Ylva sits next to him and both are giggling.

“What.” Thorfinn asks monotonously but is sure as hell that they are making fun of his hair. He badly wants to ruffle his head but he also doesn’t want to start an unnecessary squabble with his sister. She did him a favor with that, after all.

“It looks good on you.” Canute approves and just then Thorfinn sits in front of him. 

“This hairstyle?” he points.

“Oh, I was talking about the tunic.” 

Ylva and Estrid laugh out loud and that is the last straw for Thorfinn to tousle his head with a frown.

“Hey! I worked so hard on it!” Ylva exclaims.

“Aww, you ruined it.” Estrid shakes her head.

Meanwhile, Canute is confused about what is going on.

“Come on ladies, and gentlemen,” Prince Harald interrupts, his voice turning to be the focus of the five. “Today is Thorfinn’s birthday, let’s leave his hair on peace and quit teasing him.” he smiles. As always, Harald is the most sensible and mature one. However, it is in his knowledge that the girls are only doing this because they want to take a mini vengeance on the days Thorfinn pulled pranks on them in their childhood. It’s like he is the only one who did not become a victim of those practical jokes whereas his younger brother Canute was the usual target. 

The music changes to a joyful one and the Jomsvikings start singing and dancing. Wulf uses the loud music as cover up to whisper something to the princess.

“Princess, would you like to dance?” he asks, only Canute notices the act and smiles looking at them. 

Without second thoughts, Estrid stands up and accepts Wulf’s hand. Ylva watches the two with dreamy eyes. 

“Wulf better confess already or the King might betroth her to another nobility.” she mumbles, Thorfinn follows her gaze and raises an eyebrow. He wonders where Ylva gets the audacity to worry about someone else’s love life when she herself is single. But Thorfinn isn’t dumb and so he did not speak his mind and instead sips wine from the drinking horn, faking that he did not hear her.

In front of him, the princes are talking about the wine that they’ve tried earlier. Thorfinn joins their conversation, commenting about classes of wine and mead back in Jomsborg. He prefers strong tasting ones while Canute prefers the light ones. 

"Does the food taste good? I hope it is served to your liking, young master." Ragnar approaches with his hands clasped waiting for Thorfinn's response. He is the one in charge of the foods for tonight by the order of Canute.

"Everything's great, thanks Ragnar." Thorfinn replies and gives the man a grateful nod. Ragnar is more than happy to assist them.

There is a loud cheering when the double doors opened, revealing Thors and Thorkell joining after a long day of strategizing and training. 

“Oho! Finally some good food!” the huge man’s voice booms as he walks inside and walks to the top table to ruffle Thorfinn’s hair as his greeting. “I see you kids are complete and celebrating without us!” he laughs and goes straight to the corner where the foods are. Behind him, Thors is smiling at the youngsters.

“Father,” Thorfinn greets. “How was the meeting today?”

Thors sighs but the smile remains. “Great. Everything is going great that I need to get drunk tonight.” he jest, the princes chuckles. Looks like the plan for invasion is going good despite the odds. Thors excuses himself to follow Thorkell and takes food as well before sitting on the other top table exclusively for both of them.

Concurrently, Wulf and Estrid just finish and return to their table when Thorfinn pulls Canute out of his seat for them to hit the dance floor. Hand in hand, the second prince is calling out Thorfinn’s name and uses his weight to stop him but soon submit after constant persuasion from the celebrant.

“This is going to be ugly,” 

From his right, Thorkell shoves an entire chunk of meat in his mouth, following the line of his sight. Thors watches his son and the prince dancing and chuckling after stepping on each other’s foot, guffawing at their silly mistakes.

“Don’t you think it will destroy Thorfinn?” Thorkell says, partly a question, mostly a statement. Thankfully the music and the loud chattering of the people cover most of their talking. 

Thors is not a bit happy with the plan to send the second prince to his death in England. He even tried to disagree with the King bringing no advantage. A pity that the prince is born from the royal family. Unbeknownst to him is a cruel fate - to be made a sacrifice for their Kingdom. 

Ever since they were children, Thorfinn and Canute are inseparable and Thors knows it is going to be tough for his son.

Regardless, he has no authority over the matter. As a father himself, he doesn't condone it and he believes that it is preposterous. Blatant selfishness from the King. Prince Canute is undeserving of such a fate. 

A little while later Thorkell joined the others and challenged Prince Canute's teacher who goes by the name Willibald into a drinking game. 

The night deepens yet the noise only grows louder, Thorfinn and Canute go outside, both getting out of breath from all the laughing and dancing they've been doing for an hour. 

"Damn, we looked like a fool!" Thorfinn hollers as if it's not his idea to drag Canute into the dance floor.

"You're such a bad dancer, Thorfinn." Canute chimes and their laughter echoes in the air. 

Thorfinn straightens up looking at the sky and wonders if his mother already received his letter. 

"Let's walk around?" asks Canute. Thorfinn hums.

Today is the day he is officially older than Canute. A few more months until they're both seventeen. Canute walks side by side with him, his long blond hair shines through the moonlight. His beauty is like mercy among mortals and for a second, Thorfinn cannot stop staring at him. 

"Princess," he murmurs, Canute looks at him questioningly.

There is a running joke in the Jomsvikings about Canute being the reincarnation of the goddess Frejya. The men thought Thorfinn would rip them into shreds after overhearing it but he actually agreed with them. Canute is known as the most beautiful in the land surpassing even his sister. 

The prince pouts and ignores him. Taking it as a taunt when in fact Thorfinn is praising his beauty.

They arrive in the dock and observe the waves from afar. The moon parallels a silver coin dominating the horizon, sitting on the darkness of the sea and the clouds above mirrors smokes like a massive hunk of imperfect balls in bluish and gray. 

"You act like yourself now," says Canute, staring at the full moon. “You haven’t been lately.”

“What?” Thorfinn scrunches up his face, puzzled. What is his friend talking about?

“Lately you’ve been acting weird. You seem lazier than usual and I felt that you’ve been keeping something to yourself.” Canute elaborates, hugging his knees while Thorfinn glances at him then on the skyline.

Thorfinn ponders, a soft breeze strokes his tousled hair as he thinks deeply about what he witnessed three months before landing in Jelling. Canute knows him to the core and it is not surprising if he perceives him better than anyone else even his family.

“I overheard my father and uncle one night,” he begins, Canute listens eagerly giving him his undivided attention. 

“They were drinking mead in a private room in our home. It was late at night and I just finished playing with Baldr. They must be thinking there is no one around but I wasn’t feeling sleepy at that time and wanted to check the weapon room. The key is in my father’s possession so I looked for him. I overheard their voices inside and was about to knock when I noticed that they’re in the middle of a strange discussion.” 

Canute’s gives him a confused look.

“ ‘I’ve been a warrior for so long as I can remember but it doesn’t feel that I’ve become a true warrior’ said my father,” Thorfinn says it so mellow with a hint of sadness in his eyes.

“What?” the prince chirps. “I..I don’t understand, why is he feeling that way? Your father’s reputation is unrivaled, does that mean he doesn’t feel that his life is fulfilling?”

Thorfinn pauses before continuing, lifting his head in the sky with a surreal look on his face. For a son who idolizes his father so much, it is painful to hear that the man he sees as his role model isn’t happy about his chosen path. Thorfinn dreams to be the greatest warrior because of him and now that he knows first hand that the dream did not make his father a true warrior, he feels lost.

“I do not want to chase a dream where it leaves me incomplete,” he sighs. “I mean, what’s the fucking point?” and groans.

Canute places a hand on his back to console him, he can feel the frustration coming from Thorfinn. 

“I understand, but we all have different lives and what you choose is up to you. If master Thors does not feel accomplished in his life then perhaps it is not the right track for him. Nevertheless, I am in no position to say that.” Canute bites his lower lip, right, for someone who has never been chosen it is unfair for him to judge a man on top. 

The prince’s gaze drops at the scabbard of the blade on Thorfinn’s waist and a memory flashed in his mind. A flush creeps his alluring face and removes his hand from Thorfinn’s back to hug his knees tighter as a chilling wind passes by. 

“But I believe that you can surpass your father.”

Thorfinn looks at him.

“Remember when you made a promise to me back when we were young?” asks Canute shyly, burying his face to hide a blush. 

“That you will always be on my side, n- no matter what.” his long hair dances in the wind while Thorfinn’s eyes flutter trying to remember that day.

_Ah._

It happened when he turned seven. His father gifted him with a dagger decorated with symbolic carvings. He recollects his exhilarated younger self upon receiving his very first weapon, jumping and running in joy. Then on that same day, just like today, hoists the dagger heavenwards and swears to whoever deity is listening to protect his one and only friend.

“I forgot about that,” Thorfinn plops a hand on his forehead. “I made that vow to you huh,” his younger self has been truly foolish enough to say that. On why did he made that promise, he cannot recall anymore.

The atmosphere between them turned upside down. Thorfinn is back to his jovial self. Right. If the dream did not fit in his father, it doesn’t mean that it won’t fit him. Their blood ties have nothing to do with how destiny unfolds.

“So you’ll just forget about it?” Canute pouts and huffs in disappointment. 

“Fine, fine,” Thorfinn raises his arms in surrender. “A sickly princess who cannot kill a wimpy rabbit on his own needs protection.”

“Call me a princess again and I’ll push you so hard, that vow isn’t the only thing you would be forgetting,” warns Canute but his threat falls on deaf ears.

Thorfinn pulls out his dagger mimicking what he did in the past and points it to the moon. 

“I swear in the name of Odin,” 

His gaze tears from upwards then back to Canute and the prince’s eyes glimmers, mouth slightly agape.

“I’ll protect you, Canute.” 

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know the sauce in this AU is Thorfinn would be torn between his family, duty and personal feelings. I love dramas. What do you think?


	4. Enemy

** May 1013 **

The Vikings believe in several gods at the same time, Aesirs and Vanirs, and Odin as their most high. Whereas in Christianity, they only have one god, the Father in heaven. He has been taught since childhood about the difference between the two. King Harald Bluetooth, his grandfather introduced the religion to Denmark. He knows so little from his grandfather yet Canute took the same passion for learning more about Christianity.

“....and of the Holy Spirit,” Friar Willibald motions the sign of the cross.

“Amen.” Canute does the same. 

Today is the day dedicated to his Christian lessons. The weather outside is fair and he can hear the chirping of birds from one small window. Canute thanks his teacher and takes his bible all at once looking like he is chasing time and bolts outside.

“Your highness! I’ve got your snacks!” Ragnar calls holding out a tray with freshly baked rye bread and some berries together with a glass of milk. 

But the prince runs past him, hugging the bible tightly between his arms and chest. “See you later Ragnar, I’m meeting with Thorfinn!” 

Ragnar scratches the bald top of his head and sighs. He and Willibald, who is on his way outside Canute’s study room, look at each other for a moment and shake their heads. 

He promised to make it on time to watch the Jomsvikings’ sparring match this late in the afternoon. Canute dashes in the courtyard, running past the longhouses to the training ground. He has never been a big fan of swords and he hasn’t been much to the training grounds as much. Only with Thorfinn and during his sword training with Wulf he goes there. It is located at the southernmost part of the King’s manor.

Canute stops midway, seeing the distinct sight of Jomsvikings battalions scattered on the open field. He raises a hand to cover his face from the sunlight that blinds him from seeing them clearly and after a few walks, strolls under an oak tree, panting.

The warriors are assembled per platoon smashing each other’s weapons with all their might, howling as they pounce on their brothers. Canute approaches them in silence, looking around to find Thorfinn when Asgeir spots him.

“Your highness, looking for the young master?” the man with a braided goatee gives him a knowing look and points at Thorfinn’s direction with a nod. He doesn’t remember holding a conversation with the man but Canute knows him as Thorkell’s right hand man.

Thorfinn is bandaging his hands while talking with Thorkell. The giant appears to be fired up, anticipating to see some kick-ass moves from his nephew. Canute staggers, undecided if he should approach him or simply waves a hand to tell Thorfinn that he is there.

Blaring noises span the training field when Thorfinn goes to the center. The men are gathered ring-shaped anticipating the next part of the party - a one on one fight between their young master and a random Jom.

“GO, Thorfinn! Make sure you’ll entertain everyone!” Thorkell cheers, raising his fists upwards like a little boy. Thorfinn places a hand on his hips and rolls his eyes after muttering some swear words waiting for his opponent. He is not here to entertain his war maniac uncle, he is here to test his prowess as a warrior.

To Thorkell’s left, Asgeir and Canute are closing in. He catches sight of them and snickers, now like a little girl. 

“His highness Canute is here! So do your best!” Thorkell shouts again, making Canute freeze in his spot. 

Thorfinn glances behind him to make sure that the insufferable man is telling the truth and there he finds Canute standing next to Asgeir and Thorkell. The prince flashes him a simple smile and Thorfinn’s cheekbones lift high.

“Young master,” a Jom notifies him to get ready for the spar. Thorfinn acknowledges and tells him to bring his sparring partner at once. Thorfinn wears a dark green gambeson, brown baggy trousers, and low cut boots, refusing to wear any armor as it will only make his movements sluggish, no matter how Leif Erickson, his caretaker, and teacher insists him to wear. 

“Thorfinn! Be careful!” from the other side of the ring, Leif frets, sweating like he’s the one who’s going to throw and accept blades shortly. 

“My, my, that man is so orthodox,” Thorkell mumbles from his chair, hoping his nephew will fight all out. Asgeir chuckles next to him, reminding him that it is Leif’s job to take good care of Thorfinn and that they cannot blame the man for being worried sick. Canute agrees with Asgeir and the huge man sulks. He only wants to see Thorfinn’s growth and of course, a genuine showdown. 

“Can you all shut up? Tch, everyone’s annoying as hell.” demands Thorfinn impatiently. His uncle and his retainer will soon tire him out before his sparring partner does. So irritating. Can’t they stop telling him what to do every damn time?

A lanky man sets foot in the ring and Thorfinn’s attention turns to him. The man is young maybe around his age but is way taller than him. Everyone does and it’s infuriating. His eyes grow realizing the man is familiar.

“Oi, aren’t you…?” Thorfinn points a finger at the man with spiky, wild hair and sparse eyebrows.

“I am Garm,” he gives Thorfinn a toothy grin, holding a spear. “I don’t think I’ve introduced myself before but I guess you already know me.” he continues, still with an enigmatically friendly grin. 

Thorfinn scowls, what is Baldr’s bodyguard doing in Denmark? 

“The boss asked me to come with him for some job I cannot refuse but well, I guess I am your sparring partner today,  _ young master Thorfinn _ .” cheshire smile across his lips mentioning his name. 

He sees Garm in Jomsborg together with his cousin, he comes to know that the young man is the boy’s bodyguard through their servants. Baldr used to say that the man is mysterious but does his job well enough to keep him safe from assassins. Even so, Thorfinn does not pay too much attention to him nor is interested in his skills.

“Shall we begin~?” Garm asks in a sing-sang tone. There is something in this guy that Thorfinn finds revolting and although he cannot figure it out, he might find the reason soon enough.

Without further ado, Thorfinn pulls out his daggers and heaves it up. Garm spins his spear with great enthusiasm. Unbeknownst to him, the mysterious man has been dreaming of this moment for a long while - on fighting him.

Exhilarating voices erupt from the crowds as the two young men lunge forward. Garm swings his spear laughing like a hyena and Thorfinn ducks to dodge, gripping his daggers tightly before stomping his foot forwards in an attempt to get near to him. Daggers are at a disadvantage against long range weapons and he needs to get closer for a solid attack. 

“Nah ah ah~” Garm shakes his head lightly and hurls the spear forcefully. A strand of Thorfinn’s hair falls from his side and if not for the quickness of his feet, Garm would’ve stabbed straight in the eye.

“Shit!” Thorfinn cartwheels backward. Damn, is this guy that serious? He would have killed him with that! 

“UUUOHHHHH!!!” the Jomsvikings are all fired up and Thorkell stands from his seat, all throwing their arms in the air. But the excitement has only just begun.

“Thorfinn….” except for Canute and Leif from the other side, the older man’s eyes bulge out from its sockets watching how the young master nearly gets impaled. Canute’s throat dried, Thorfinn’s sparring partner isn’t a normal warrior, there is more than meets the eye with this fellow and even someone like him who isn’t a fighter can tell. 

“Woah, you’re good!” Garm praises spinning his spear from one hand to another. “You’re the first one who eluded my spear!” his face lights up, moved by Thorfinn’s skills.

_ “What the hell is this guy?”  _ Thorfinn questions internally. He swears that he saw the spear grow longer when this guy throws it. What the fuck. He hasn't met anyone who can match his speed.

“My turn,” Garm’s Cheshire smile is back and in a blink of an eye advances. Thorfinn snarls and leaps, taking Garm in surprise. If he cannot catch him below then he has to take him from above. The taller warrior shrieks, surprised at the act but he does not move an inch from his stance and instead tosses the spear up in the air as Thorfinn rapidly descends.

“Thorfinn, look out!” Canute calls from the audience and everyone holds their breaths, sweating, waiting for the outcome of an impossible jump. The time drips slowly at their expectation.

Thorfinn positions in a defending stance, still in the air blocking the sun and Garm peers high up, discerning what Thorfinn is planning. Smart, he likes him already.

_“Got you, bastard,”_ grumbles Thorfinn and twirls his body mid-air, kicking the spear away from him. The corner of Garm’s mouth curves up as he unlatches the weapon, dividing it into two.

“What the?”

“Hehe, you’re good, you’re _really_ good,” the lanky man snickers and just like that, the spear is split allowing him to have two short spears. He poses for an offensive stance, their movements are so quick that some of the men that watch them fail to see that Thorfinn already landed, his boots creating a dusty smoke from the barren soil, swinging his daggers at his opponent. One thing he learned from his father is to use your surrounding fight for you. Hit after hit with Garm now in a defending mode.

Dual wielding is a talent that not every warrior possesses. From a simple sparring match, it is now a battle of agility and quick thinking. Thorfinn’s strikes are point blank and full of vigor. Clearly, he is not the only one who got out of the line in this event. Garm side steps dodging the right dagger that slips from his sight in a hair’s breadth. Is he also trying to kill him? His eyes flutter wide seeing how Thorfinn manages to close their gaps.

Thorfinn sweeps the left dagger in a circular motion and for the first time since they started, Garm is forced to take a step backward. 

A collected gasp is heard from the viewers, Thorkell has his fists curling into a ball as has the look of a boy watching his mother prepare his favorite meal. Asgeir refuses to blink, afraid that if he did, he might miss something and the prince next to them doing the same. 

Thorfinn pounces the left spear from Garm’s grip but the taller warrior swiftly knocks his right dagger in compensation. Both let out a cry and punch the other directly on the face. They step backward at the impact making the men around them flinch, gums bleeding and mouth twisted. 

“You fool!” screams Thorfinn.

“Come at me!” provokes Garm, blood dripping from his mouth.

And then they continue to throw punches until they both drop their remaining weapons. The fight has turned barbaric in some way like it is between life and death. Their hands clutch the other and Thorfinn head buts Garm twice, growling like a beast. Garm head buts him back sending him backward and pulls his arm for another but Thorfinn growls for another punch. Their faces contorted with blood and sweat.

“That’s enough!” from the audience, prince Canute screams, enough to break the pressure. Canute marches to the ring going to Thorfinn.

“What?” Thorkell blinks, he can’t believe the royalty will just end it that way. What a shame, he wants to see the outcome of this fight. Then again, it is not every day they can see the young prince act like a real man and so the Jomsvikings are in awe.

Thorfinn faces Canute with a bruised face and bleeding lips as if questioning him why he is stopping the fight. But he has no energy to argue, not when his vision is doubled. He can see Canute’s worried face but cannot for the life of him understand what he is saying.

“Thorfinn, let’s go, we need to tend your injuries,” Canute says, pulling his friend out of the ring and ignoring the other warrior. Thorkell kicks his chair, mad that Canute had to stop it but cannot bring himself to do anything against the prince’s wish.

* * *

A beautiful female servant helps him clean his wounds with a white cloth and cold water. Thorfinn sits on a low three-legged chair, shirtless, revealing a gash on his ribcage that he did not feel earlier. Dammit, so he got him. The young lady puts a bandage around it and their proximity allows Thorfinn to sniff a bit of her scent. Unlike other servants, she has a definite smell on her hair like an essential oil made from herbs, flowers in particular. She usually brings him food in his room every night and sometimes a glass of milk but never got to ask her name. This certain servant is not owned by his family nor the Joms but by the royal family. She has long blond straight hair just like many other women. Thorfinn sometimes catches her looking shyly at him from time to time, not that it bothers him.

“Umm,” the servant blushes at how the young master is sniffing her hair. Thorfinn immediately stops and apologizes.

“Sorry, it’s uh…..your hair smells good huh.” Thorfinn blurts out, avoiding her eyes, unaware of his own blush.

“T-t-thank you, sir,” her cheeks heat up while also accidentally tying the bandage too tight. Thorfinn yelps, maintaining his body stiff. She apologizes so many times but Thorfinn assures her that it’s fine.

From the door, Canute steps inside with a frown staring down at them. It takes a moment before Thorfinn looks at him in acknowledgment. 

“If you are done wrapping the bandages, you may go.” the prince commands flatly making Thorfinn confused. Why does he sound so annoyed?

“Yes, your highness,” the servant replies. “I’ll finish cleaning the young master’s face--”

“I’ll do it.” Canute surprises both Thorfinn and the servant and they look at him as if he grew another head. “You may go now, Hordaland.” he orders.

Hordaland hesitates for a second but soon follows, she drops a curtsy to Canute and smiles shyly at Thorfinn before leaving. Once the door in Thorfinn’s room is shut, the young warrior chuckles.

“Since when did you learn how to clean wounds?” he quips, grabbing the cloth to the cold water before wiping his face. Canute’s chin is raised and from Thorfinn’s view, he gives the impression of glaring down at him. The royalty silently stands there, saying and doing nothing.

“Oi, Canute,” Thorfinn calls. “What’s gotten into you?”

Canute breathes out and proceeds to take the cloth from Thorfinn’s hand and dump the cloth on the water again to clean his face. Thorfinn’s confusion increases very steeply, baffled at Canute’s behavior. 

* * *

Mystery swirls in the dark portion of the court like an ominous being lurking behind the shadows. Floki is with a few guards meeting with a lone man, limping as he walks.

“What did you do this time?” the old man asks, squinting at the young man. He obviously got beaten from that disgusting grime and bruises on his face. Garm is holding his bandaged abdomen, he got him with that swift cut but he cannot remember when did Thorfinn's dagger successfully run through him. And by golly, it is deep although thankfully no organ is hit.

“Hehe,” but instead, Garm is happy. Happy that he met someone today who can take par on him. Happy to meet someone deserving to be called his rival, who can match him and who can possibly kill him in the future. “I played with Thorfinn today,” 

“Hoh,” Floki huffs with closed eyes. “So what do you think?” the man inquires.

The warm light from the torches dances through Garm’s sharp eyes. They say eyes are the windows of the soul yet this young man seems to be soulless, craving nothing but death. His bruised lips curve into a dangerous smirk.

“I can do it,” says Garm. “I’ll obliterate him.” 


	5. Plan

* * *

**July 1013**

* * *

“...this battle took place in 986, when both of you still haven’t been born. The famed Battle of Hjörungavágr, between the Jarls of Lade and the Danish invasion fleet of King Harald Bluetooth, His Highness Canute’s grandfather together with the Jomsviking chieftain, Master Sigvaldi, young master Thorfinn’s grandfather.” on Leif’s hand is a book that contains past campaigns of the Jomsvikings, the man paces in the room, nodding at every sentence he says with such passion. The teens listening to him albeit with contrasting differences. Prince Canute sits properly with eagerness and respect while Thorfinn slumps on his seat putting a hand over his chin looking bored and sleepy.

He had heard of this story for the nth time of his lifetime, again and again. Thorfinn particularly has a strong dislike of this story for it was a battle where the Jomsvikings lost against Norweigan forces led by Haakon Jarl. Many of their brothers are captured by the Norwegians and about to be executed exhibited courage and defiance, some being eventually spared. He first heard it from his father and ever since listed that side of history as his least favorite. 

“Hmph,” Thorfinn makes a low guttural sound. “We already know that!” and complains. Canute who sits on the next table parallel to his says something to stop him and smiles apologetically to their instructor. 

“Don't be rude, Thorfinn.” whispers Canute, more like a hiss. Thorfinn huffs and sinks lower from his seat like melting snow.

“Can’t you tell us another interesting lesson instead?” requests Thorfinn nonchalantly while picking his ear using the tip of his little finger. At this, Canute cannot hold back himself from slapping his arm, and Thorfinn jolts in surprise.

But Leif only grins, as if what the boy said only fuels his passion to teach history. He has always been intense every time he talks about the old days and lands far away. Leif is a well-traveled man and also a good friend of Thors. He used to travel from one place to another as a sailor but decided to settle as a caretaker and educator after Thors’ coaxings when the boy turned six. His employment as Thorfinn’s retainer consequently made him the second prince’s teacher as well, for the royal shares the same age with Thorfinn. 

“Oh, I know!” Leif’s eyes gleam, pointing a finger upwards. “Would you like to hear about the Battle of Svolder? Or how about the skaldic poetry? Perhaps Þórsdrápa is a good one to start. Or, or, or my travels in the past!”

The teens looked at him in dead silence.

“Young master, do you remember the time I told you about Vinland?” Leif clears his throat and straightens up mirroring a skald who’s about to recite a stirring poem, stomach in, chest out.

“Far, far to the west, across the sea, there is a land called Vinland. It's warm and fertile. It's a faraway land, without slave traders and war.”

The chair creaks as Thorfinn stands and sighs. “Alright, time to leave. I have training with uncle today,” he says dismissively and turns around to leave.

“Thorfinn!” Canute pulls his sleeve. “Mister Leif isn’t dismissing us yet!” he hisses.

“I see, I see,” Leif chuckles and waves a hand. Realizing he is holding them for quite a time now. They’ve been in class for the last five hours. “Then maybe next time, I’ll be able to tell you again about Vinland. You were so fond of it when you were still little! Don’t you remember?” the man reminds him cheerfully. 

Thorfinn sighs. Sure, he remembers the time he was fascinated about Vinland but as he grows he starts to think that a place like that does not exist. There is a chance that Leif is only making that up like a childhood fairytale to keep the children interested and give them dreams and hopes. But now that he’s a teenager, he can see the world more clearly and believes that there is no way that land, where there is no war and slaves, can exist. Absolutely not in the world they live in.

“Let’s go.” he pays no attention to the man, only to his friend, and proceeds to go outside the room.

“Please excuse his behavior,” Canute apologizes on behalf of Thorfinn but Leif assures him that there is nothing to worry about, saying it must be probably his fault as well for mentioning that part in history which Thorfinn dislikes. The prince thanked him before following his friend outside.

Canute chases Thorfinn with frustration but soon chooses to understand him instead. One of the key principles of making friends with Thorfinn is how to deal with his temper when annoyed. They walk in silence until Canute breaks it.

“My grandfather was persistent to take back Norway in the hands of Jarl Haakon to convert the country in Christianity.” 

Thorfinn continues to walk and says nothing but listens.

“He was a de facto ruler and has no right to decide for the land and yet…”

Thorfinn abruptly stops and faces Canute exasperatedly. “Where are you going with this?” he gruffs. “You’re just like that old man, saying something I don’t wanna hear anymore.” 

The prince stammers and twitches on his spot. “I..I just thought that maybe if I am the one telling the story to you, you wouldn’t be too irritated. Besides, it’s all in the past now and there is no reason--”

The shorter male clenches his fists. “Canute.” he presses, eyes darting to his friend and that is enough for the prince to stop. 

“It is the greatest loss of the Jomsvikings. I hate hearing about it.” he drops and continues walking briskly. Canute chases him again.

“I'm sorry,” the prince breathes. “I was only trying to….”

“That’s enough.” Thorfinn pauses again. “I don’t want to talk about it.” he faces Canute but now the annoyance is gone. “I promised my uncle to train with him today. Wanna watch?”

Canute blinks but feels relieved that Thorfinn overcame it quickly. Perhaps he should not bring the topic ever again. 

“I would love to, but I am going for an audience with the King later this morning,” he replies. Thorfinn perceives a doubtful tone in his voice but shrugs it off. It’s always been like that anyway, Canute has always been nervous around his father.

“Eh? I see,” Thorfinn sighs. “Well then, see you around.” 

Canute looks at him as if he wants to say something but cannot figure out what to tell him. 

“See you,”

Afterward, they go to their separate matters to attend to.

* * *

It is like being alone in a cave, glacial and dim with nothing else but him. Nothing comforting, nothing that can still his racing heart and gives warmth to his slowly freezing body. His skin turns paler at every step he makes and the echoes of his footfalls at the hard wooden floor. Canute fears that if he takes a deep breath, he will make too much noise and the guards, as well as the King, will see through him, see through the tormenting uneasiness that’s been bothering him from the moment he step a foot in the throne room, from the moment that his eyes lands to his father’s.

“Canute,” the King speaks gently yet in Canute’s mind it registers as something menacingly. Like a snake quietly hissing on his sides with its tongue out, scornfully staring possessing the eyes of a vicious being, calculating his worth.

“You’re going to accompany me on the campaign to England next month.” 

In his mind, the snake finally decided to bite him off, injecting him with its poison. Canute tries his best not to tremble in fear, standing amidst the Jomsvikings from Floki’s brigade. 

“You know what this means, _right?_ ” King Sweyn tilts his head, wrinkled eyelids droop giving him a quick squint. He looks bored and tired and done with it. But most of all he looks excruciatingly calm. Despite _this._

Canute’s lips quivers, breath shaking, azure eyes that speak the word fear. He knows, he bloody knows what is this for, and yet why is he surprised? Why is he in pain? He wants to break down and deep inside he already is. 

Instead, the King laughs. _A sham_. All of a sudden his face brightens up. 

“It’s time for you to learn more about the war as the second in line to the Danish throne.” the snake lies, as if he didn’t bite him, as if the poison will not kill him “We are the ones who rule the Vikings and we must show them our might.” the king continues.

Lies. Deceit. A trap. 

Maybe he’s physically and emotionally weak but Canute is not a fool to believe that there is nothing hidden beneath those words coming from the King -his father, the person he owes his life to. A voice screams at the back of his head like a monster clawing its way out telling him to run and never to return. A monster that tells him the truth and nothing but the truth but Canute battled with the tenacious entreatment in silence and swept it under a rug. A thing he’s really good at. _Ignore, deaden your mind, and everything will fall in its place._

Risk. Confusion. Run. _Run._

“Y-y-yes, father.” stammers the prince. Now that he successfully held himself inside that abominable throne room, all he has to do is to go outside still with his body, mind, and soul intact. His shaky legs almost collapsed right after the double doors closed behind him. The pressure in his chest gravitates within his soul and the complexity of his understanding is in shambles. Canute is met by a stunned silence of the gloomy hallways. Since when did this place turn like this? Or is it just the way he visualizes the world has completely changed. 

There is nothing to see in the void that he stares at, imitating the future that awaits him in England. 

* * *

Commander Thors’ brigade is in the middle of an important meeting when a sudden interruption comes in the form of a demanding teenager. The next thing Thors knew is that he’s outside throwing light on his youngest’s mind.

“Is it true that Canute will join the campaign?” Thorfinn asks as if he is being chased by wolves, sweat rolling down his forehead. It just so happens that while they’re on a training, Thorkell spilled the beans about the prince going to England by the order of the King. Thors mentally plops a hand on his head, he should have known that his friend isn’t good with keeping secrets. He now fears that the giant man might accidentally reveal more top-secret information. But Thorfinn hasn’t asked about that one particular vital detail and so Thors played it cool, answering only what his son is throwing at him.

“Yes.” he replies and sees how Thorfinn’s demeanor intensifies.

“I want to come too!” the boy says, determination coming within. Thors has a confused look on his face. He did not expect Thorfinn to be saying this. “With your position, you can ask the King to assign me as Canute’s bodyguard, father.”

Thors opens his mouth but nothing comes out of it. Calmly, he turned around facing his back on the boy.

“I still have to talk with my subordinates. You should return to your training and do not bother yourself too much about it. Remember your lessons very well, Thorfinn.”

“But father-” Thorfinn blocks his way, asking to be heard. “I am serious about this! I want to come with you, I can handle myself and you should know that too!”

“Enough. You are not to talk about this again.” Thors cuts him off with finality in his voice. But Thorfinn has the determination of an unstoppable force and insists once again.

“I’m no longer a child,” he blurts out. “Just one more year and I’ll be an official Jomsviking warrior. I proved myself enough for you to take it to consideration that--”

“Thorfinn.” Thors interjects now with an elevated voice. He rarely ever loses his composure much in disciplining his children. Commander Thors has always been a patient man and that is how Thorfinn concludes that his father is on the brink of losing his patience. Still, it baffles him why he would argue about tagging him along in a war. Everyone hails him to be one day leading the Jomsvikings and it isn’t like he is seven years of age. He’s seventeen, for Odin’s sake, trained to be a warrior since childhood. For what purpose is he aiming to lead the North Sea’s strongest force if they are going to treat him as a child who cannot hold his ground?

“War is not a playground. Prince Canute’s role as a political role model for the people of Denmark is not something you should bother yourself about. The King decides it for himself and he knows better than anyone else how to take care of this. If it's the safety of the prince that you are worried about-”

“The only thing he cares about is that goddamn piece of a crown!” Thorfinn bellows but that anger is directed to the King and not his father. Thors hurriedly looked around, checking if someone heard Thorfinn.

“Thorfinn you-”

But the boy runs away before he can even have the chance to school him. 

“What’s happening here?” 

Thorkell walks in but Thorfinn runs past him in a flash. The man notices that Thors is giving him a disappointed look and wonders why.

“What is it?”

Thors shakes his head sideways and sighs deeply with his hands akimbo before returning inside the war room. 


	6. Trap

The afternoon light gazes upon him as he kicks a rock after another, silently and irritatingly musing about what happened earlier. Even so, he knows that his whining will bear no fruit, not when his father made a decision. Thorfinn groans and scratches his head with both of his hands, ruffling the already unkempt blond mop of dirty blond.

Thorfinn curses under his breath, unable to accept that he cannot do anything about it. “This sucks!” he shouts and only the breeze passing by with the whisper of leaves from nearby trees are there to accompany his terrible mood until his eyes sight a familiar figure from the lake. Thorfinn’s eyes widen. He does not expect to see Canute this soon. 

His temper somewhat changes and instantly dashes to go to his friend. As he goes nearer, he notices how Canute is hunching while watching the calmness of the water and looking like his full focus is just there, unaware of the incoming presence. 

Thorfinn smirks to himself as an idea pops in his playful mind, completely pushing aside that he was tantrumming a few moments ago. He makes quick light steps carrying his weight as his boots strides through the grass and reaches out his hand to cover Canute’s eyes from behind.

Canute who was minding his solace jolts and clutches the hand that seizes him while Thorfinn controls his mouth to say anything anticipating his friend to throw a punch or a yell at him later which he doesn’t mind. It hardly ever comes with a bite when it's Canute.

“T...Thorfinn…” the prince mumbles and his voice gives away the mood he’s currently in.

Thorfinn’s grin turns into a frown, that’s neither what he has expected. He removes his hands from Canute’s face. He can only wonder what happened with the prince’s day although he cannot be wrong if he guesses that it has something to do with the King. Thorfinn plops down next to his friend and starts with his own problem. 

“I fought with my father,” he opens up as if munching a piece of bread. “So sick and tired of everyone treating me like a child. My sister only went here just so she can know what I do and my father wants me to focus on my lessons and training that I’ve been doing for ages! Even Mister Leif cannot teach us new things anymore because he already taught us everything!” he complains, not hiding a bit of disappointment. He had enough of it already. He wants his father to treat him as a warrior and for his family to stop viewing him as a kid. A sheltered nobility will only result in an unsuccessful leadership. Thorfinn longs for the day that he finally witnesses a true battle in his own eyes, to use his daggers against a real foe, and watch his father in genuine combat. For what that he studies and trains his ass off in all those years if the only thing they want him to do is to observe from behind. 

More so, Thorfinn has another _pretty personal_ reason he is determined to join the campaign.

His gaze steadies on the horizon and with a calmer voice, says what’s on his mind. “I want to join in the campaign next month.” He doesn’t need to state the reason why but somehow Canute gets his motive. Thorfinn throws his arm up and his back meets the ground. “But father won’t allow it.” 

Canute moves his head to look at him somberly like a lifeless doll. This face is what Thorfinn bothers the most.

“What’s wrong?” he asks in a haste and the next thing, he sees Canute try - but fail to contain the tears clogging from his eyes. 

“N-nothing,” Canute wipes the tears away with the back of his hands. Thorfinn stares at him dumbfounded and rises again to check on his friend.

“W-what?” Thorfinn trails off, eyebrows pulling closer, wondering if it’s something he said. He hasn’t seen Canute cry in front of him since they’re children and now that he thinks about it, it has been a considerable amount of time. He knows his friend can be a crybaby at times but seeing him tear up now that they are older brings indescribable feelings to Thorfinn. He cannot explain it but there is somewhat guilt and helplessness that starts to gush out from within him like he has to do something - anything about it. 

“You dummy,” but Thorfinn son of Thors is bad at words. He looks so lost feeling overwhelmed at seeing Canute cry as if he’s the reason for it. “Isn’t lying a sin for ya Christians?!” he snaps. 

Canute puts his head down, wiping the tears from his eyes and sniffs. “M-my father...it’s…” words cannot describe how much he wants to tell Thorfinn everything. About the court, the factions, what the King truly plans for him, and the destiny that awaits him in England. But as someone who was taught how to deaden his mind, Canute knows that it will only bring them trouble. He doesn’t want to drag Thorfinn into something that he should be facing alone. He is his best friend and the only one aside from Ragnar that can truly understand him. Saving him from his very own misfortune is the least he can do now.

“I got scolded.” Canute lies averting his gaze from Thorfinn to his fidgeting hands. “I...I didn’t want to...go with him,” he says, almost choking on the lump that is forming in his throat. Another lie. He mentally prays to his Father in heaven to forgive him for his sins, saving Thorfinn from the abominable truth.

Thorfinn groans for the nth time of the day but is not surprised at the reason why Canute feels this way. His friend detests holding a weapon much more going to war to watch their people kill or be killed. Surely he doesn’t take it amusingly to be suddenly dragged on the battlefield. 

“Tsk, I know,” Thorfinn clicks his tongue and sighs. “That’s why I want to come too, aside from..ya know, I want to be on the battlefield too.”

The realization and sudden proposition have them silent in a few seconds before Thorfinn’s cheeks flushed as Canute looks at him in a daze. He shakes his head and stammers to clear what he means by that. “As I said, I want to be on the battlefield too! I’m a warrior!” feeling that his face is betraying him because he can feel the heat of his cheeks, Thorfinn whirl around hiding his face from Canute. “Not that I only want to be there because of you…” he mumbles, now reddening furiously.

Canute smiles, heart warm at the reticent concern from Thorfinn. Perhaps even when the world turns its back at him, he still has two people who will never leave his side. He smiles to himself, grateful for his life even just this once. 

* * *

**August 1013**

“Not cool, totally not cool,”

Another month has passed and the day has come for King Sweyn of Denmark to personally lead the campaign in England. The finest warriors from all over the country are gathering in the vicinity of Jelling with four Jomsviking brigades - the biggest force to date since the Danes started to invade England. From a distance, Thorkell observes while Floki reports to the King that the preparations are going smoothly as planned. Behind them, Ragnar seems to appeal and expresses contemplation about the prince’s presence in the battlefield. 

“Why am I not a part of this? This is unfair.” Thorkell bleats, feeling envious of the warriors gathered in the place. He has his arms folded over his chest walking side by side with his right-hand man.

“Thors’ order is for us to be the second batch of warriors. You will have your moment.” he chuckles, looking at two incoming figures from afar. 

“Hmph.” Thorkell sighs as if saying _I’m not five_ but is acting like one. Lips pouting at overflowing jealousy. “Damned Thors! How dare he make me, the great Thorkell the tall, a backup! Bah!” he protests, now he’s clearly acting like five. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Thors together with the prince and is forced to act naturally.

“What a pitiful child,” Asgeir comments dryly and shifts his gaze quickly to the King. The statement however is not as emotional as it should be. 

Thorkell keeps his mouth shut in a thin line, eyes focused at Canute and Thors 

“Aren’t Thorfinn and the prince-”

“Keep quiet!” the giant man hisses. “This isn't something to talk about out in the open." He says like he didn't almost slip the secret to his nephew multiple times.

From their spot they can see that Thors is having a presumably casual conversation with the prince. Canute is wearing a winged helmet and a majestic cape, red as blood.

"Please think about the proposal, your highness." Thors stops and faces the prince.

"Once we land in northern England, have my word that we will attend to your safety. The King will most likely hesitate if you survive in the battle of Gainsborough and instead grant you the exile to Normandy. It is the least I can do to help you." Thors dips his head, sincerity flowing through his words.

Canute glances at him dubiously. But his uncertainty roots from his self-esteem and not from the man. Thors is the only one among the commanders who reached to help him. It was a shocking move coming from a man with such a status. He wonders if the commander is doing this for the sake of his friendship with his son or simply out of goodwill. Nevertheless, Canute appreciates him for he did not expect that Thors will consider taking his side.

"I may not find the words to say how grateful I am for this proposal, commander," the prince says. " I-I will do my best to stay alive." 

Thors smiles in acknowledgment.

“B-but…” Canute adds. “I-If you don’t mind, I just want to ask... why are you doing this?” he twirls a strand of hair from his side and glances at the other direction sheepishly. He is not doubting the man, only his self worth. If his father cannot see that value of his life then Canute has every right to wonder how someone will think of lending him a helping hand. 

Thors ponders for a while before answering and smiles again, warmer than the first one. He looks behind the prince where the King and his retainer are conversing. In all those years of serving the King, Thors never feel truly accomplished as a warrior. Then one day, it just dawned on him; if killing does not make him feel a true warrior then perhaps, saving a life will make a change - a life of an innocent young royal - his first step.

“Because it is the right thing to do.” Thors answers after a moment of reflecting and Canute’s eyes broaden at his word as if seeing a light at the end of the darkness. “Likewise, you are a good friend of Thorfinn. Please think of it as something I would do for my son too.” the man discloses, trying to ease the prince’s thoughts. None of them knows if the plan will work and they will still start from scratch once they landed in Northern England. At the very least, he can try to avoid the death of the prince on the battlefield. 

“Commander Thors….” Canute gazes at him straight in the eyes. He cannot quite find the reason how something in the man’s eyes changed as though he is a different person from the man who leads thousands of men. 

Thors excuses himself before anyone from around them takes notice of their conversation and goes to Thorkell and Asgeir for additional order while he is gone. The prince watches the man depart, but his attention soon catches his father and Ragnar’s voices. Instantly knowing what they’re talking about, he tries to divert his attention to something else by looking around to find Thorfinn. Just yesterday, he made him promise to be present on his send-off. Starting from this day, his future will be uncertain. Whether he can return to his homeland in one piece will now depend on commander Thors’ proposal. 

He can feel his stomach in knots thinking about this and once again, his legs shake from fear, his vision doubled all at the same time trying to look for his friend.

_Thorfinn, where are you?”_

A useless attempt.

He spent the next few hours staring off the distance with Ragnar on ship consoling him over and over that it might be that Thorfinn has an important matter to attend to or that seeing him depart is hard for his friend.

“He will be sad for sure.” the loyal retainer shakes his head with a heavy heart, patting the back of the prince who is holding the winged helmet sitting on his lap tighter than he should. He sighs in frustration internally questioning why Thorfinn did not appear in almost certainly the last day they can see each other. But Canute also realizes that maybe it is better this way.

“It’s fine,” he says in a shaky breath, not letting his emotions emerge. “It will be hard for us to say goodbye, Ragnar.”

“Y-your highness…” Ragnar snuffles, getting emotional at the way the prince is holding himself together. He knows how Thorfinn and the prince are almost one and the same. The young master of the Jomsvikings takes great effort to stay in Denmark in every chance he gets just to play with Canute since they were both little. It pains him greatly knowing how the teens feel about their separation and the worse of all, without knowing then are they going to meet again - or if they will ever meet again... 

“Father! Big brother! Please have a safe trip!” from the harbor, princess Estrid waves a hand. Wulf stands next to her also waving his hand, both unaware of the truth. Together with them is prince Harald who only stares at Canute firmly. There are numerous sentiments from their eyes but neither of them can mutter a single word for the other, both knowing how their fates are sealed by their blood as first and second princes.

The two brothers retain their gazes as the ship embarks.

* * *

In the neck of a rocky island from nowhere lies an unexpected turmoil in the form of a mysterious band of Vikings led by a peculiar man. Askeladd massages his goatee as he observes the sky. 

“Looks like it’s gonna rain,” he says and hums. One leg forward at the front of his ship. “Well, who would think that even a man like Floki would be favored by the sea god Aegir?”

To his right, a bulky man with a helmet walks in “The men are ready, what do you think?” he informs. Business is business when it comes to Bjorn. 

Askeladd nods and whistles lazily. The sky above is like a set of undesirable smoke - filthy as their souls. 

“Alright, tell the lads that it’s time to work.”

And with his words, they sail. 


End file.
